Five Years
by BlueIrishEyes
Summary: [Completed] After Hogwarts, Hermione becomes an attorney and is courtappointed to Draco Malfoy's case. Everyone knows he's guilty, but as Hermione puzzles over his past, she discovers that there may still be something left in him worth saving.
1. Bleeding the Same

X Five Years X

Disclaimer: Simply put, I don't own Harry Potter or the characters and places in this story. The plot, however, is mine.

Summary: After Hogwarts, Hermione Granger becomes a defense attorney for the Ministry of Magic and is court-assigned to the notorious Draco Malfoy. Everyone knows he's guilty, including himself. But as Hermione spends time puzzling over his past, she discovers that maybe there is still something a little good left inside him.

X Chapter 1: Bleeding the Same X

"Get up." A hand roughly shook him awake as Draco Malfoy rolled over on the old cot he had been resting on. He narrowed his grey eyes suspiciously at the prison guard as he sat up.

He snapped rudely in response. "What?"

The guard grabbed his shoulder and tugged him into a standing position before pushing him callously towards the cell gate. "You got a visitor."

It was a long walk from his cell to the visiting room. The shackles on his hands kept his shoulders rigid and sore and his legs were out of practice from being chained to a wall for several days. The hall was grey and gloomy and there were no windows to let in any light. Somewhere, Draco could hear water dripping onto the stone floor.

Finally he was halted in front of a solid metal door. A small round porthole allowed a beam of light from within to shine dimly into the corridor.

The guard turned to him gruffly. Mockingly, he said, "Now you play nice, little Death Eater. I'll be right outside the door." Then the man jerked the metal slab open and shoved Draco inside roughly.

He glared daggers through the porthole at the guard's satisfied smirk but turned at the sound of a chair screeching against the floor as it was pulled out.

His blond eyebrows rose in bemusement. Sneering, he ridiculed, "Long time, no see, Granger. It's been, what, four years?"

Hermione Granger frowned disgustedly. She pointed a delicate finger at a chair across the table from her, indicating for him to sit. She was taller now, but still stood a good four inches under him. He stayed standing.

When she didn't reply, he narrowed his eyes and demanded, "What are you doing here anyway?"

With a frustrated sigh, she glared at him before answering. "I'm your court-appointed lawyer, Malfoy. Under the Fifteenth Wizarding Decree, every Azkaban criminal has the right to an attorney. Apparently, I'm being punished in some way as I have been hired to be yours." She crossed her arms across her chest bitterly and sat down in her own chair. Pulling out a cream-colored folder, she opened it and organized its contents meticulously.

Draco chuckled but sat down across from her, leaning his forearms on the cold metal surface of the table.

"I bet nobody else would take the job, so they made you do it, knowing that you never back down from a challenge, even when it gets you into trouble." He said trouble threateningly, a dark flicker lighting his eyes, taunting her, baiting her.

She glanced up from her papers to meet his eyes but quickly looked down again. Her hands shook a bit as she got out a quill and inkpot.

Draco smirked widely. "But you're scared too. You always were pathetic, Granger."

Hermione flattened her hands on the table and looked at him resolutely. Her gaze was fierce and her rich brown eyes were filled with an old anger. "You're right, Malfoy. I took this job because no one else would. But I also took it because it would give me complete control over the man that had made my childhood miserable and destroyed hundreds of people's lives. I have the power to put you behind bars forever. I can get you the Kiss, if I wanted. I could even have you executed. We both know you've done plenty to deserve that."

She sat back in her chair, a relaxed smirk on her own face now. "It's not like you can hurt me anyway. This island is free of all magic except protection wards. Most of all procedures here are done the Muggle way. You can't even do wandless magic inside these walls. You can't even touch me. Not while you're in here and there's a spell between us."

Draco's eyes were hard as he scowled at her, but she didn't look away. She met his eyes easily, contemptuously. His voice was low and dangerous as he replied. "I never knew you were the revenge type, Granger." He paused thoughtfully. "And I didn't kill hundreds of people. That's quite a lot, actually, even for me."

Her face hardened at his casual speech and she snapped coldly, "I didn't say you _killed _hundreds of people. You've only _killed_ forty-seven. I said you _destroyed_ hundreds. Every time you murdered someone, their family broke. And every time you murdered someone, their friends suffered in your wake. You don't have to kill someone to destroy them." She finished almost wistfully and her eyes looked far away, as if she was looking at someone over Draco's shoulder.

He watched her curiously as she thought. Her hair was pulled back in a knot behind her head but tendrils of unruly curls had slipped out to frame her face. Her robes were a conservative blue in a business style cut but flattering enough to show her womanly figure. Her skin was pale, as if she was inside working a lot. Knowing her, she probably was, he thought. Her face was smooth and youthful, although a certain maturity she had lacked a few years ago while they went to school had caused miniscule lines to crease the sides of her mouth. But her eyes were the same as they had always been, emotional chocolate pools. Draco had always been able to know how she felt because those eyes gave everything away.

As if coming out of a trance, she shook her head with closed eyes. Looking back at Draco, the tips of her pink lips turned down in a slight frown, she ruffled through her papers. Then she sat up straight and spoke in a professional tone, as if ashamed for letting him see her momentary lapse. "You're being charged with multiple counts of murder, torture, regular use of the Unforgivables, treachery and treason, attacking Ministry officials, consorting with Death Eaters, being a Death Eater, and using magic in the presence of Muggles. Do you deny any of those claims?"

She glanced up and watched as he shook his head grimly. She swallowed slowly but continued on. "You're to have a trial in two months to determine your sentence."

He interrupted, "Two months? Why would the Ministry wait that long? Everyone knows I'm guilty. Wouldn't they just give me the Kiss and be done with it?"

Hermione sighed, but her expression mirrored his own. Obviously, she wasn't happy with the Ministry either. "Yes, but Scrimgeour has a lot on his plate right now. Constant Death Eater attacks have kept the entire Ministry on their toes. The Wizengamot and Council of Magical Law's funds have been cut to help pad the Magical Law Enforcement and Auror fields. They're more concerned with catching Death Eaters than with sentencing them. And besides, Dementors aren't exactly in the Ministry's control right now."

Draco smirked in realization. "I see. I'm assuming the Ministry isn't getting anywhere on the Dark Lord's whereabouts' and Dementors are running rampant doing his work. No wonder this place isn't as miserable as I thought it would be. There aren't any Dementor guards. I bet the entire Wizarding community is in an uproar."

Hermione frowned but didn't deny it. "There are still a few Dementors around, Malfoy. You can still get the Kiss, if you wanted, but it would just take a lot of time that the Ministry doesn't have right now."

Hesitating slightly, she commented, "I'm supposed to ask for your account of your crimes, but there are so many," she glanced at him pointedly, "that it will take longer than one visit. I'm afraid you'll have to tolerate me quite a bit over the next couple months. Wizarding law is full of complicated rules and procedures." She looked at him sarcastically, as if daring him to comment.

He shrugged noncommittally. "It's not like I've got much else to do."

Hermione breathed deeply and then plunged right in. "I'd like to start with why you joined the Death Eaters in the first place and how you rose to become one of Voldemort's most trusted servants. Maybe if I know your motivations, I can better understand the reasons for your crimes."

Draco looked at her coldly. His eyes were calculating, contemplating whether or not to tell her the truth. Finally, he sighed deeply, tiredly and leaned forward to stare at his clasped hands on the table. The sleeves of his grey uniform had been carefully rolled up and the pale light in the room caught on the barely visible yellow hair on his arms. She could partially see the horrible black tattoo on the inside of his left arm.

His whispered, broken answer shocked her. "Ever since I was a boy, I was expected to follow in my father's footsteps. I believed every word he said because I idolized him. I so desperately wanted him to be proud of me, to love me, that I was willing to do anything just to get in his good graces. Blindly, I followed him in his every action. I did whatever he told me to do. When he said, 'Become a Death Eater,' I did. I knew he never loved me, but I had always hoped that someday he would. I found out too late that his cruel heart would never harbor any love for me." His words were sad, bitter.

Hermione's dark eyebrows were drawn up in bewilderment. Draco could tell, just by looking at her eyes, that she had never known about the lonely, unloved little boy he had once been. And he could see her mind fighting itself. She knew of his past, of the terrible things he had done, but now her heart desperately wanted to pity him.

His voice hardened then. "I don't want your pity, Granger," he spat. "I don't deserve your pity." He almost sounded disgusted in himself.

She was silent still, but the unwanted compassion continued to leak out of her warm eyes.

Abruptly, she shuffled through her papers again. Her face was alight with a sudden dawning.

Pointing at a piece of parchment, she analyzed, "This is the report of your capture. It says that you were at the Malfoy Manor when the Ministry raided there for Dark artifacts. It always seemed anomalous to me that you would do that alone. It was stupid and careless of you to return there when the Ministry had a warrant for your arrest, especially because it was common knowledge that Magical Law Enforcement had scheduled that raid. Then when you put up a fight, you didn't use any Unforgivables, although you had never hesitated to use them before. This also seemed out of character for you."

She looked at him intensely as she spoke next. "You claimed at the time that you were under orders to retrieve an old family heirloom for the Dark Lord, but I highly doubt that was true. There was really no reason for you to be there, unless you _wanted_ to get caught."

Draco glanced up swiftly to meet her eyes. He didn't speak for several moments, but finally, wearily said, "You always were smart, Granger."

Her mouth parted disbelievingly, as if she hadn't really expected her observation to be true. She leaned forward and whispered, "But why would someone of such high standing with Voldemort turn himself in? You were untouchable."

He knew she was genuinely curious and that she wasn't asking just for the case anymore.

Draco met her eyes seriously. "I finally realized what I was doing. I had allowed myself to believe that lineage was the only thing that mattered. I was following a psychotic killer who wasn't even of pure heritage himself. I had never stood up for myself, despite my pride, and thoughtlessly did whatever heinous deeds I was told to do. I kept believing that everything would be better if the Dark Lord rose to power and that it would help me forget my childhood. I had convinced myself that I was doing the right thing for the Wizarding world by exterminating muggle-borns and muggle-born lovers, but I couldn't forget the dirty feeling I got whenever I cursed an innocent person."

His next words were pained, tortured, as if it killed him inside to admit them. His eyes were glassed over and his mouth was drawn in a firm line. "You see, Granger, everyone bleeds the same when they die."

A heavy pause filled the room after his words hit the table loudly. Draco's breathing deep and quiet, regretful. He continued to look at his hands stoically, but a soft whimper made him look up at Hermione.

She had one clasped over her mouth in complete awe, as if she had just witnessed something sacred and monumental. Overwhelmed, her voice shook as she spoke. "I never thought I'd live to see the day when Draco Malfoy admitted something like that."

For a moment their eyes met, a weighted look passing between them. It was broken when Hermione hurriedly shoved her papers into the folder and stood up. Her chair clattered to the ground behind her, the sudden noise resonating through the small room.

"I've got to go, but I'll come back later this week." She sounded slightly alarmed and hasty to leave. She smoothed down her black skirt with one hand and clutched her folder to her chest protectively with the other. "Um, we'll discuss the case proceedings next time. I still have many questions to ask."

Draco's eyebrows had risen in amusement at her unrest and he smirked slightly, but it was devoid of any contempt. "And I still have more to tell."

He stood up languidly, gracefully and turned toward the door. He didn't look at her when he spoke again. "I'll see you later, Granger."

Then he lifted a pale hand and rapped on the door to let the guard know he was done. He left her standing there, an unreadable expression etched across her face.

X

A/N: Reviews would make my day. I'll update quickly because I've already got the next chapter written.


	2. Smiling Affectations

X Chapter 2: A Single Smile X

Draco had never been to a place quite like Azkaban. He'd traveled all over the world and been to places that would make even the hardest-hearted people's skin crawl. He'd seen and done things more atrocious and gruesome than some people could even imagine, but Azkaban was worse than them all.

He had no way to get out, to escape its pressing evil. The sun didn't shine here, even if there had been windows to allow it in. It's beams just couldn't reach that far into the dark. Everything was dull and gloomy and grey and lifeless. It was ominously silent except for the occasional whimper or whine of an inmate, but the prison was conspicuously deserted for the horror-filled circumstances of the time.

The season's usual cold was unbearable here; the entire prison was a frigid ice cave. Draco's breath was conspicuously visible, dancing before him in grosque, bizarre forms like devils whirling around a shadowy fire.

His only solace was knowing it would be worse outside under the Dark Lord's control. At least here he had the freedom to think what he wanted and talk as he pleased. That was more than any sane man in Voldemort's circle could ask for.

He lived for the days Hermione would visit. She had come three times already, and each occasion he reveled in the change in his otherwise tedious captivity. He always thought that this was odd, how he actually enjoyed the days she would visit.

Without fail, every seven days she would come. She always entered in professionally, wearing varying sets of business robes. She would start by asking questions about his crimes, but eventually he would shock her with some statement of humanity. She'd close her folder and ask questions for her own curiosity and surprisingly, he would answer.

Somewhere in each visit, one of them would snap at the other and they'd get in a small row, but they never lasted long. Neither of them wanted to fight, not really. Not when there was so much fighting going on outside the prison. She got enough of the hatred living outside in the world, and he got enough every time his mind insisted on replaying his shadowy memories like a broken record.

The interviews were always long and left Draco feeling emotionally drained, but he'd feel like a weight had been lifted off his heart. Sometimes Hermione's expressional eyes would feel with tears, but she never cried. She wasn't the crying type, he discovered. She would hold everything inside and put on a strong front as a defense mechanism. They were a lot alike that way.

He learned early on that this war between the dark and the light had deeply affected Hermione. Many of her friends had been killed by Voldemort's merciless hands and her world as she knew it was being ripped apart. She hadn't seen her family for two years because she had sent them away for safety. Even her closest friends had withdrawn from her.

Saint Harry Potter was so involved in the war and working with the Order that he could barely spare any time to be with her. The Weasel had become something of a recluse after the death of his father and was solely occupied with helping Harry end the war. Draco knew that as a result, Hermione was left abandoned and had retreated to what she always knew best: cold, hard rules.

Her involvement in the Wizarding law system had never surprised him. She had always been partial to facts and unrelenting truth, even at Hogwarts. She was the essence, the poster child of the Gryffindor attributes of unfailing justice and honor. So he abherrently chose to indulge her, to feed her enough to fill out her case.

As for himself, he was continuing to find that when he told her of his past, she would listen as he spoke of all the heartache, all the fear, and all the resentment that had run rampant in his life.

He never really stopped to think about how incredibly contrary it was that he found relief in confiding in a girl he had always hated.

The key turning in the lock of his cell gate jerked him out of his thoughts. "You got a visitor," the guard barked in same condescending tone he always did.

Obediently Draco stood up and allowed himself to be led out. His shoes made dull thuds as they echoed down the hall. Shoving him roughly into the room, the guard stepped aside to wait on the other side of the door.

She was waiting for him, a determined expression etched onto her delicate features.

Creasing his eyebrows, Draco sat in the chair across from her, his curiosity almost tangible as it radiated off of him.

Hermione immediately spoke cogently, her business-like front in place. "I managed to get a hearing with the Wizengamot for January 24. I've researched some recent rulings and it seems that lately they're leaning towards executions." Her mouth was set in a grim line.

Draco sighed. "I'm not really surprised. It's what I deserve."

Her chocolate eyes flickered to his own icy orbs. The line of her mouth broke slightly as one corner rose in a sort of sad half-smile.

Wistfully, she replied, "That's what the Wizengamot will think too." She paused for a moment to trace his face with her eyes. It made him shiver.

"You know, Malfoy, that when you say things like that I never know what to think. You always seem to be able to throw me off balance with the smallest amount of humility."

He looked down at his hands and smirked morosely. "It's true though."

Hermione leaned forward across the table so that she was looking directly into his face. Her hands lay flat in the middle, so close to his own that if she moved them any more she'd brush the invisible barrier that kept them from touching.

He could barely hear her whisper, "Malfoy, are you sorry?"

His head snapped up and his eyes narrowed. "What would make you think that?" he spat. She was coming so close to revealing a part of him that he wasn't sure if he was ready to show.

She didn't seem surprised at his harsh burst, as if she had known his pride would keep him from actually answering.

She sighed. "Because you always sound like you hate yourself for what you've done. Like you'd give anything to erase your past. I think you're truly remorseful."

He was struggling to keep his cold shield up, but she always managed to break it within minutes.

He replied bitterly, affirming her convictions. "It doesn't matter if I am or not. Just because I regret every choice I've ever made except deciding to come here doesn't mean I should be forgiven. I allowed myself to do things that can never be fixed. I deserve to stay here. I've finally realized what kind of a person I am." He refused to look at her, suddenly ashamed to be in her innocent presence.

She'd already put her folder away. So much for business.

She spoke again, softly, her voice comforting with compassion. "Every action can be forgiven, Malfoy. And I don't think you've realized who you are. You have many redeeming qualities." She paused for a moment to think.

He chuckled cynically. "You're so naïve, Granger. There is no way I can pay for all the things I've done, no way I can be truly forgiven. I heartlessly killed women and children, not to mention unarmed Muggles. And you can't even think of those so-called 'redeeming qualities'!"

Her eyes hardened angrily. "Don't tell me I'm naïve! I've seen more than you think. I've lived through trials and pain too, Malfoy. I only say you can be forgiven because I know you can be. You pay your penitence every time you regret your actions, every time you mourn over someone you killed. You pay your penitence in this prison that you willingly came to. _That_ is a redeeming quality. You had the courage to escape Voldemort's grasp and to free yourself from his bindings. You realized you were in the wrong and you changed because of it. You are sorry and prepared to pay for it. _That_ is a redeeming quality."

His eyes were wide at her strength and faith. "You almost sound like you care." He said it like a question, like he doubted it was possible.

Her eyebrows rose as she comprehended the weight of his statement. She replied in a whisper, so soft he wasn't even sure he heard it right.

"Maybe because you're worth caring about."

She looked as surprised as he felt, her eyes intense and deep with empathy. He was shocked, to say the least, that she believed there was something about him worth saving.

She took a deep trembling breath before continuing on. "I've suspected that you were sorry for a few weeks, and I've decided to try to reduce your sentence."

His mouth parted incredulously and a few wisps of blond hair fell in front of his eyes. "Why would you do that? I thought you were bent on getting revenge and locking me away. For all you know, I could still be loyal to the Dark Lord."

She didn't even flinch. "You're not."

It was silent for a moment as he pondered her faith in his loyalties. Then she looked at him ardently, gauging his next reaction. "I'm sure I could do it if you were willing to give up information about Voldemort. The more you spill, the more lenient the Council of Magical Law will be."

His mouth twitched at her suggestion and his eyes narrowed as he contemplated. It didn't take him long to decide.

"I'll do it."

If he had known she would smile that way at his response, he would have agreed long ago. He couldn't ever remember being the reason for such real contentment.

"Good." There was a warm pause for a moment as she smiled.

Hermione looked up at him shyly before asking her next question. It seemed so trivial compared to everything else they'd discussed.

"Malfoy, what do you miss most, being in here?"

Her tone astounded him. It was casual, pleasant, almost friendly. He narrowed his eyes suspiciously, but answered warily none-the-less.

"Quidditch. I used to keep up with it, you know, who got a new player, which team was going to the championships. I guess I liked knowing that it would always be there, that the rules were always the same, that it would always just be a sport."

His answer seemed to surprise her, like she had been expecting something different. But she nodded her head thoughtfully after a moment.

Then she sighed gently and picked up her folder to stand up. He took the cue and went to the door, but turned to face her before he left.

He almost smiled, but couldn't bring himself to fully do it. Instead, quietly, he said, "I'll see you soon, Granger. Until next week." He brought his hand up into a mock salute and smirked playfully as he walked out the door.

She stood behind her chair for several moments in astonishment before she turned away as well.

X

A/N: It was a little shorter, but I thought it turned out okay. Thanks to all who reviewed last chapter. I really appreciated it. More would be great. ; ) I'll update fast, I promise.


	3. A New Normality

X Chapter 3: A New Normality

Hermione's fifth visit was unlike the rest. She came in Muggle clothes, clad in a soft, flowing turquoise skirt and a fitting white button-up blouse. Its long sleeves stopped just soon enough to expose her hands, revealing a glittering bracelet around her left wrist. She carried a folded coat in her arms, conservatively beige but of smoothest suede. Her hair lay in loose ringlets around her shoulders, catching the faintest light and giving the curls an almost golden glow. Draco had never felt more underdressed.

She didn't have her ever-present folder with her either. Instead she placed a section of _The Daily Prophet_ on the table. She pushed it across the invisible barrier so he could read it, anxiously watching his face.

His eyes widened as he read a title blazoned across the front. It was the sports section. The pictures showed various Quidditch players flying across the frames, chasing the Quaffle, guarding the posts, or dodging a Bludger. The next page revealed the season standings and the week's scores were posted in neat columns.

He looked up to meet her eyes and saw she was smiling timidly. She had one elbow propped on the table, her hand cupping her chin as she watched him read.

It seemed like she was waiting for something, for some response from him that showed if he appreciated her gesture or not.

For the first time since he was in Azkaban, Draco smiled. It was a real smile, one filled with thought and gratitude. It was a new sensation for his lips, not completely comfortable but not necessarily unpleasant either.

The look on Hermione's face was one he would never forget. She radiated her delight, pleased that she had finally cracked his unfeeling exterior. Her entire countenance seemed to glow. He wondered at how someone could show such outward emotion so shamelessly.

Timidly, as though he wasn't sure if he should or not, he finally broke the silence that stretched between them. "Thanks, Granger."

"You're welcome. I know you don't get much here. There's a pretty well written article on page three about the upcoming Quidditch Cup."

He gazed at her incredulously. "You actually read it? I thought you hated Quidditch."

She smirked amusedly. "Everyone seems to think that. Just because I'm not good at flying doesn't mean I can't appreciate the sport. I'm not a dedicated fan, but I know the rules and try to keep up at least enough to make decent small talk with strangers. Besides, I wanted to know what I was giving you."

Draco shook his head ruefully. She would never cease to amaze him.

His unusual cheer was cut short when she spoke again.

"Well, I can't stay. I called in sick so I could have the day off and I'm going out with a friend. I just wanted to drop that off for you." She said it matter-of-factly, like she was simply reading off ingredients on a potion list.

He raised his eyebrows skeptically as he teased, "Sick? You don't look sick, Granger. Far from it, you look the best I've ever seen you. Straight-laced Granger lied to her boss. I never thought it would happen."

Her cheeks colored at his words, but she lifted her chin defiantly. "I needed some time off. I work ten hours a day, six days a week. Don't you think I deserve to have a little fun?"

He laughed lightly. "I'm sure you do, Granger, I'm sure you do. Well, I hope your date goes well."

"It's not a date," she paused to cast a withering glance at him, "I'm going to lunch with Ginny Weasley."

Draco held his hands up defensively. "Sorry, didn't know. Have fun on your _lunch_ then." He smirked happily as he stood up, holding the newspaper in one hand.

"See you later, Granger." Then he disappeared through the solid, heavy door he had come through only a few minutes before. He didn't see a look of disappointment flash across Hermione's face as he turned away.

X

Draco soon found that Hermione's shorter than usual visit didn't leave him feeling content for very long. He realized that he wanted to see her more, be in her positive presence longer. He wasn't satisfied with a few minutes of her.

She had finally come again, wearing her suit robes as usual, her professional front in place, and with the cream-colored folder. Draco had smirked at the return to her previous predictability.

The next two weeks followed the normal routine, with one slight difference. Hermione still came at precisely the same time every seven days, but now she always brought a copy of the Quidditch section of the newspaper for him to read. The first ten minutes of her visits now were spent with him reading scores and game summaries while she watched contently.

The third week after she had brought him the first copy of _The Daily Prophet_, she seemed tighter and more closed than usual.

Draco lowered himself onto his chair, his lithe legs stretching out beneath the table as he slumped relaxedly. Hermione sat rigidly, her shoulders tense, her arms resting gently on the table. Her mouth was drawn in a tight line and her eyes revealed her anxiety.

She pushed _The Daily Prophet_ across the table to him swiftly and re-clasped her hands in front of her, quietly allowing him to read.

He raised his brows at her attitude, but chose not to comment. For several minutes, they sat in silence while he read. Hermione's hands wouldn't stay still, rubbing and fidgeting.

Usually, Draco could always feel her eyes on him when he read. At first it had made him uncomfortable, knowing and feeling her eyes trace his form as he sat, but soon he was used to the action. He began to appreciate it too, secretly smiling to himself.

But today was different. The lack of her eyes on him seemed alarmingly conspicuous. Immediately, he knew something was bothering her. Quickly, he finished reading, fastidiously folded the paper, and set it on the table.

He gazed at her inquisitively, questioning with his eyes as to her upset. She didn't meet his eyes, instead looking over his shoulder at the wall. For several moments they sat in a charged hush.

Finally, she ended the silence with a clipped statement. She didn't look at him, just glassily stared like her mind was somewhere else.

"Your hearing is tomorrow."

Draco raised his eyebrows further in surprise. It was already January 23? No wonder Granger was so stressed. Tomorrow she would have to present the case of one of the most known and hated Death Eaters to a biased jury.

He wasn't quite sure what to say. "Oh."

Her eyes flickered to his face. She had a puzzled expression on her face at his indifference. "Aren't you nervous? This could determine the rest of your life."

He shook his head. "I probably deserve whatever punishment they give me. I was prepared for this when I first arrived back at Malfoy Manor the day of the raid." He looked at her strongly before continuing. "Besides, I have a brilliant lawyer."

She raised her dark brows skeptically with a small sardonic half-smirk gracing her face. "At least that makes one of us."

His voice rolled as he chuckled, filled with real amusement.

After a few moments of laughter, during which she watched him with a timid smile, he sobered and leaned onto the table so he was looking directly into her eyes. "But really, Granger, you have no reason to be nervous. God knows you've done your research. If anyone could get me out of this mess, it would be you."

A femininely pink tint rose to her cheeks briefly at his compliment. Her eyes flitted down to her pale hands as she spoke again.

"You'll be taken to the Court of Magical Law at the Ministry of Magic at eight-thirty, then brought before the Council at nine. I'll have already shared a brief account of your crimes and stated my evaluation of an appropriate sentence. In return, you'll be asked to trade everything you know about Voldemort and his followers. Then several armed guards will escort you back to Azkaban while the jury deliberates."

"That's all I have to do?"

She nodded in certainty. "It's going to be brief. There will be no witnesses because everyone already knows what you've done and because the rest of the Wizarding world is involved in other aspects of the war. It won't even have media coverage.

He smirked. "What a shame. I'm very photogenic."

She sent him a withering glance but smiled none-the-less. "I just wanted to make sure you were aware of the proceedings. I have to go and take care of some last minute details, but I'll see you early tomorrow."

He nodded and slid his chair back. "Alright, I'll see you tomorrow at the Ministry."

With a short sigh, he turned away and knocked on the door. He lifted a hand in farewell as he disappeared through the door into the dark.

Hermione sighed wearily and ran a shaking hand through her unruly curls. Then she too, turned and left to get prepared for the case.

X

A/N: I can't believe I managed to get this up on time, my laptop was giving me major problems. But I couldn't let you guys down, so here it is. Thanks so much to Marionette, D.M Lover, aperfectattitude, yummy food, witch, WinnieThaPooh92, and Punkindoodle for reviewing chapter 2. You guys are the best.

The big day is coming up! What's his sentence going to be? You'll have to wait and read. After that, there's only going to be one or two more chapters (It's a short fic).

Reviews are thoroughly appreciated!


	4. Kingdom Come

X Chapter 4: Kingdom Come X

Draco spent a restless night in his cell, tossing and turning, images of grotesque silhouettes looming over his sleeping mind. He woke with the threadbare sheets wrapped about his legs, one arm dangling over the side of his cot.

Although he couldn't see the morning, Draco felt the early hour. All was silent within the dreary, dungeonesque walls of Azkaban. There was no stirring of convicts, no patrolling of guards, and even the ever-present dripping seemed to have ceased. It was ominously quiet.

Twisting his hips so that his legs hit the floor beside the bed, Draco sat up slowly. He didn't stand though, just stayed on the edge of the thin mattress, head in his hands.

He had told Hermione he wasn't nervous, but here he was the morning of the trial, scared out of his mind. Part of his stress was over his own nerves, but an overwhelming percent of his concern was for his dark-haired lawyer. And that's what scared him.

When had he started to think of her as more than the buck-toothed, know-it-all Muggleborn she had been in their school days? Was it the moment she incredulously listened to the truth of his beliefs on that first day? Or was it when she had first slid _The_ _Daily Prophet_ over the table?

Whatever the moment was, Draco did realize, reluctantly, that he had had some sort of change of heart about her. He didn't care about her, not really. He just knew she wasn't what he had always thought of her as. She was a feeling, thinking witch, more capable than he would ever be.

He sighed deeply then, a rattling, tired breath that seemed to come out of his shocked heart. He had been so wrong before, oh so wrong. And now he was placing his future in the hands of a woman he had always hated but didn't anymore. How things had changed.

Draco wasn't aware of how long he sat pondering, realizing, until a guard came to the door of his cell. It wasn't the same gruff man he usually was accompanied by. This man had cold, calculating eyes and smart Ministry robes over hard, trained muscles. He spoke quietly, the kind of voice that carried hate and intelligence in a whisper. He strongly reminded Draco of Snape.

"It's almost eight-thirty, Mr. Malfoy. The Council is waiting." Effortlessly, the Ministry official slid open the iron bars and moved towards Draco. Heavy shackles were attached to each of his arms before he was pulled toward the opening of the room.

Now Draco was able to see two more guards standing in the shadows of the corridor. They wore the dark uniforms of the specialized Ministry Police. Lithely, they came and took hold of the chains dangling from each of Draco's wrists. Their faces showed no trace of emotion as they strode down the hall flanking the first cold guard.

Draco smirked silently as he walked between them. The Ministry must really be afraid of him if they sent an Auror and two of the best Ministry guards to bring him to the Court.

They paused at a door before the two Policemen pushed him through into an unfamiliar room. The walls were shiny and cold-looking, obviously made of some impenetrable metal, and Draco could almost feel the security magic crackle around him.

There were no furnishings, not even the table and chair the visiting and interrogation rooms held. There was only a crushed soda can lying in the middle of the floor.

The four men stepped up to it as the Auror glanced at a watch on his wrist.

"Mr. Malfoy, you know what to do. If you don't come with us, those magically-bound chains around your wrists will drag you along. I've heard it's quite painful that way, so I'd come willingly if I were you. Forty-three seconds, boys," he said, almost mockingly congenial.

Draco's face remained stonily emotionless, but his heart jumped a little at the Auror's words. This was definitely not a man to trifle with.

At the Auror's indication, each man reached a hand out, and after a heavy pause, touched a few fingers to the can.

Instantly, Draco was spinning swiftly, pulled along by some unseen force. His three escorts stayed close but they were merely dizzy shapes whirling around him. His head spun painfully as he caught glimpses of different places in the hazy vortex. Then all at once, the group hit the ground.

Draco remained on his knees, breathing heavily and shaking his head as if to remove the dizziness.

The two Policemen and the Auror were already standing, waiting restlessly for him to gain his bearings.

The Auror scoffed at Draco's lack of balance. "It's been a while since you used a Portkey, hasn't it, Mr. Malfoy?" His words were menacing, spiteful.

Draco glared back at him and cautiously rose to his feet to stand rebelliously straight in front of the men.

The Auror smirked, so much like Draco's own familiar expression it was startling. "Finally," he remarked indifferently.

They were in a room very similar to the one they had left in Azkaban, but the Policemen quickly led him out into a dimly lit hall. They strode down the seemingly endless corridor until he was stopped in front of a solid wood door. The rich, golden oak was intricately carved with decorative runes and ornamental hieroglyphs. The number 13 curled delicately across the top.

For several minutes, the men stood in front of the door, unmoving and silent. Draco's eyes furrowed in confusion and he swiveled his head to look down the hall each way.

Just as he was about to speak, the door swung open just enough to let a small, mousy man out. A chorus of angry voices briefly broke the silence, but they were muffled as the door was hurriedly closed again.

The small man wrung his hands together nervously as his eyes shifted over Draco. Then resolutely, as if he didn't want to look at him again, the man turned to the Auror.

"They're ready for him, Maddock." His voice was high and trembled as he spoke.

The Auror nodded once and placed a hand on the door. He paused before he pushed it open and turned to Draco. Harshly, he breathed, "Your kingdom come," then swung open the door and pushed him through.

Orange light from suspended torches illuminated the large room luridly, casting a glow on the rows of faces stretching before him. There were no windows in the solid stone walls and it was warm from the heat of the many people seated against the walls. If the temperature had been thirty degrees cooler and the audience hadn't been present, it would have been much like Azkaban.

Wooden benches lined the room at different levels, like a Quidditch stadium, only not nearly as welcoming. Although at least fifty people sat in the rows, many of the upper levels were conspicuously empty.

On one side of the room, the twelve witches and wizards of the Council of Magical Law sat stoically, elevated on a platform. Each of their hardened faces turned to him as he stumbled through the door.

Several members of the Wizengamot were present as well, marked by their purple robes and the silver W embroidered on their chests. They sat stonily in the rows just to the left of the Council.

Directly opposite the twelve was a long plank table. Hermione stood alone behind it, her chair pushed out, papers organized in three piles across its surface. She seemed small, standing there by herself on the empty floor. She had removed her cloak and outer robes to reveal a sleek gray skirt and a modest button-up blouse, its sleeves rolled up from the heat. She had an unreadable expression etched upon her face as she watched his entrance.

The rest of the crowd began to murmur angrily as he was led to a chair that was angled so he could see the Council, Wizengamot, and Hermione. The two Wizarding policemen flicked their wands over the shackles. Immediately the chains snaked around his wrists and ankles, tightening uncomfortably.

Draco's eyes were drawn to the crowd across from where he sat; a few of the faces were familiar to him. He recognized the werewolf professor, Lupin, and what must have been his cousin Nymphadora beside him. Only she would come to a Ministry court with lime green hair and startlingly violet eyes.

Several other Aurors sat around them, a number of whom Draco had had previous run-ins with. Two men with bright orange hair and freckles had to be Weasleys, easily recognizable by the family traits.

Draco searched a moment but couldn't find Harry Potter. He would have thought that the black-haired young man would be there, both to support Hermione and to see his childhood nemesis condemned.

Suddenly, an irritated tapping permeated the murmuring and all eyes went to Rufus Scrimgeour, Minister of Magic, as he hit his wand repeatedly on the wood in front of him where he sat among the Council.

"Order, order! Please, ladies and gentlemen, we have a case to proceed with!" The Minister's voice was gravelly and rough as it cut through the air, but the court soon quieted.

Scrimgeour nodded once then proceeded. "Thank you, Mr. Belby and Mr. Maddock," indicating at the nervous little man and Draco's Auror guard.

Then he turned back to the Council. "We have heard Draco Malfoy's defense as given by his attorney, Miss Granger, and her, uh, proposal for his sentence." He paused for a moment as the Wizengamot and Council scoffed mockingly.

"The case is exempt from witnesses, so it will continue with the trade of information about You-Know-Who, his followers, and his whereabouts. Miss Granger, would you please conduct?"

Hermione nodded curtly and shuffled through some papers before stepping towards Draco. Anger and frustration waved off of her as she came closer and looked up at Scrimegeour. She shot him a pointed look before turning to Draco again. She glanced at the court scribe, a scrawny young man who Draco recognized as a former student at Hogwarts, who nodded that he was ready.

She sighed once, as if calming herself before she spoke to him, using her official tone. "Draco Malfoy, you have been convicted of multiple crimes of a heinous nature. As agreed upon earlier in the case, your sentence may be lightened if you provide sufficient information on He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named. Please start your disclosure with the names of witches and wizards you know are Death Eaters."

Then Hermione smiled encouragingly, small enough that only he would catch it. Swiftly he glanced around the room before he took a breath and spilled the words that could save him or kill him. He was betraying the Dark Lord, and there was no going back now.

With a decided smirk he began. "It would be my pleasure, Miss Granger. Let's see, there's Theodore Nott, Gregory Goyle, Vincent Crabbe,"

Scrimgeour interrupted. "Those three have already been apprehended, Malfoy."

Draco raised his brows slightly. "Congratulations then. You managed to catch the Dark Lord's stupidest followers," he retorted sarcastically.

Whisperings broke out among the crowd and Scrimgeour had to rap his wand again.

"Please, Miss Granger, control your client," he said contemptously.

Hermione turned back to Draco, her eyes stern and her mouth set in a firm line. Draco's smirk faltered for a split second.

"Fine, I'll play nice. I apologize for my uncouth behavior, Minister," he said, seemingly ruefully. Only Hermione heard his underlying sarcasm, her lips upturned slightly in amusement.

Scrimgeour nodded suspiciously but conceded, "Proceed then, Mr. Malfoy."

Draco drummed his fingers rhythmically on his chair as he continued. "Hmmm. There's Blaise Zabini and his wife, Isabella. Pansy Parkinson, Stewart Ackerley, Ellie Branstone,"

"She's an upstanding healer at St. Mungo's!" one of the members of the Wizengamot called out.

Draco rolled his eyes. "She's also an undercover Deatheater. She was the one responsible for that Muggle massacre last year, along with Rose Zeller and Graham Pritchard."

There was a collective gasp among the audience. Even Hermione's eyes were wide in surprise, but she nodded for him to continue.

"Thomas Rednish, Emily Band, Graverly Stephens, Whittier Dawlish,"

"The Auror?" Scrimgeour asked in disbelief. Lupin and Tonks were staring at him, eyes wide and betrayed.

Draco nodded. "He's been a Death Eater for several years, feeding Ministry secrets to the Dark Lord. So has Cormac McLaggen, the Head of the Ministry Treasury."

Many of the Wizengamot members were shaking their heads and several wizards on the Council looked appropriately decieved.

He continued. "One of the Dark Lord's best sources is Herbert Chorley, the assistant to the Muggle Prime Minister. He's the reason the Dark Lord has been able to kill off several prominent Muggle leaders."

Scrimgeour's face was now contorted with rage. He seemed to be muttering under his breath. "I knew there was something about him that couldn't be trusted. Do you have any more names, Malfoy?"

Draco's brows crinkled pensively as he paused to think. "There's Bertie Higgs as well, although he hasn't been very active as of late. But he was the one that murdered Amelia Bones, the previous Head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement."

The room was speechless as the crowd turned to the Minister. His mouth was dropped open in shock. Dazedly, Scrimgeour commented, "I used to go hunting with him. We were childhood friends."

After several moments of hushed silence, the Minister sat straight again, determination written across his weathered features. "Is that all, Mr. Malfoy?"

The sea of faces turned back to Draco and Hermione looked at him in awe.

He looked down at his hands before hesitantly continuing. "Horace Slughorn isn't exactly a Death Eater, but he's had a foot in the Dark Lord's circle for years. He provides a lot of materials for the Death Eaters, like rare potion ingredients. He has also backed them financially for awhile. But I can't remember any other Death Eaters you don't know about."

There was a lull of talk for a moment before Hermione spoke again, brisk and business-like.

"Now that you have given up the names of _many_," she paused to glance satisfactorily at the Council, "Death Eaters, is there anything you would like to share about You-Know-Who himself? Remember, if it's beneficial to the Ministry at all, you'll have your reward."

Glancing around once more, Draco focused his eyes back on Hermione as he spoke. "The Dark Lord has many plans for the future, one of them including a full-on attack of Ministry Headquarters. He plans to overthrow the Ministry so that he will have political control. I think that is planned to happen in two or three months."

The Council frowned, but didn't look surprised.

"He has also placed spies in nearly every major Wizarding area in Europe. There are several watching the Ministries in Paris, Madrid, Frankfurt, Dublin, even Moscow. In addition to Europe, he's staked out a few other, smaller areas like Cairo, Washington, D.C., and Montreal. He wants to cut off all of London's aid and eventually attack all of this Ministry's allies."

Hermione's own face reflected the shock that coursed through the rest of the room.

"He wants to take global control?" Scrimgeour asked.

Draco nodded. "Eventually, yes. He's very ambitious about exterminating those he deems not worthy of magic." He paused for a moment then spoke again, nonchalantly, as if what he said was of no importance.

"The Dark Lord has an obsession with defeating Harry Potter. Given the chance to take over the world or kill him, I think he'd choose to kill Potter. You can use that to your advantage." He stopped to glance at Hermione's reaction. She was looking at her feet, her hands clasped resolutely behind her back.

"He is almost immune to spells coming from a single person, so if you are going to battle him, it better be with more than one wizard. He has a particular hatred of anything associated with love or families and so spells that harness emotions related to those things can really affect him. His one weakness is his own heritage. It kills him that he's not a true pureblood and it's the only thing, beside Potter, that he'll lose his cool over. He's murdered some of his most faithful followers for just mentioning it."

Scrimgeour frowned but asked, "What about his headquarters, do you know where they are?"

With another glance at Hermione, as if Draco needed her strength for his next admittance, he continued.

"The Dark Lord's headquarters are hidden with a Secret-Keeper."

The Council murmured in frustration. "How are we supposed to find it then?" a woman from the Wizengamot section asked.

Draco glanced at her but turned to look at Hermione as he spoke.

"I tell you. You see, Voldemort made the mistake of making me his Secret-Keeper."

The crowd gasped again, both in horror of the spoken name and in the revelation that they had the most decisive information in their hands.

Hermione took a step closer to him, her eyes pleading. Her voice was broken as she begged, "Tell them where it is, Draco. It could end this war."

Her outward appearance remained collected and pulled together, but Draco knew how to read her eyes. Inside, all of her raw pain and distress was almost tangible to him.

Never pulling his eyes from hers, he quietly revealed the most pivotal knowledge of the Wizarding world.

"It's about 90 kilometers from here, out on the coast of the English Channel. 258 Downs Street, Dover, Kent. It looks like a little brick cottage."

The scribe's quill was the only sound as it scratched frantically across his parchment.

"Oh, and you can only get to it by four ways. There's an Apparation Point in the basement of the Riddle House, one on the back doorstep of the Shrieking Shack, one in the back of Knockturn Alley, and one around the corner from the Ministry in a little bookshop called Turning Pages. Occasionally he'll set up Portkeys for the Death Eaters if they have a particular mission that isn't near any of those points."

Scrimgeour finally spoke, a sort of revelatory tone coating his voice. "That means You-Know-Who has access to the most important Wizarding areas in London: Hogwarts, Diagon Alley, and the Ministry and St. Mungo's."

Draco nodded in confirmation, but he kept his eyes on Hermione. She was breathing deeply, her eyes crinkled in relief, her face pale. But her eyes were alight with more hope than he had ever seen.

Scrimgeour's eyes were hard as he thought, his mind already planning a way to use this information. Distractedly, he nodded to Draco's escorts. "If that's all Mr. Malfoy, we'll have you escorted back to Azkaban while we deliberate." The Minister smirked for a moment while Draco was unchained and then turned to Hermione.

Draco was pulled into a standing position and pushed to follow Maddock out of the room. But he hadn't quite made it out the door before he heard Scrimgeour address Hermione.

"Counselor, if you would step forward. As The Wizengamot and the Council of Magical Law have earlier stated, your terms of Mr. Malfoy's punishment are ridiculous. There is no way we could give such a lenient punishment. But he did give us information, so it is most likely we will decide on a life of imprisonment instead of something worse."

The last sound Draco heard before the door shut heavily behind him was Hermione's outraged reply.

"But Minister, he willingly gave up knowledge that could very well turn the tides of this war and give us the advantage we so desperately need! We have a fighting chance now, yet you want to shut him away?"

Then one of the Wizarding police slammed the door shut, and all was silent once more.

A/N: Hurray for cliffhangers! I hope that you all are satisfied with that chapter, and I'm sorry it took me so long to update. I had surgery and quarter finals, but being an invalid finally gave me some time to write. I know it was very long, but I couldn't find a natural stopping point and I wanted to get the entire court scene into one chapter. Let me know how you liked it, I think there were a lot of errors and it wasn't quite up to my usual par. Maybe I'll edit it sometime.

Thanks to all of you who reviewed last chapter, I love you guys!


	5. Broken Mask

X Chapter 5: Broken Mask

The next day moved unbearably slowly, as if the world itself was frozen and had trouble turning on its axis. To Draco, the time seemed to be completely suspended, not a minute, not even a second was passing.

He was sitting in the visiting room, its familiarity only an irritation in his impatience. Hermione was late for the first time in all her visits. She had actually made an appointment for today with the guard, something she had never bothered to do before, and she hadn't yet arrived, much to the blond convict's chagrin. Draco's nerves were ready to tear him apart.

The heavily plated door swung open abruptly, the sound of fanned air whispering about the room. Draco looked over his shoulder to the entrance and watched silently as Hermione finally strode in, her delicate heels tapping strictly across the cement floor. In her arms she held her manila folder and her usual case, but now a second, jade-green folder had found its way into her arms as well. She set both on the table with a solid slap and swiftly pulled out her chair.

Draco raised an eyebrow sardonically before speaking, indifference and coldness lacing his voice. "Granger, late? How odd. See any flying pigs recently?"

Hermione cast him a withering glare but didn't retaliate. Instead she calmly opened the cream folder and slid a paper over the table to him. He took it lightly, as if he didn't care what it was, but he sighed resignedly as he read the words.

Hermione interrupted his silence. "It's your sentence. You have fifty years in prison with no chance of parole. That's about as bad as it gets." She paused to let her words sink in, her eyes carefully trained on his face to catch any escaping emotions.

When he didn't comment, or even offer any reaction at all, she continued, "The Council was pushing for life, but a few members of the Wizengamot were able to persuade them to reduce it a little." She spoke as if she were talking about the weather, searching her mind for any small conversation to fill the void.

After another two or three minutes of silence, Hermione let out a frustrated snort and knotted her fingers together on top of the table.

"Are you going to say anything? You've just been told that you'll be spending the prime of your life in prison. Aren't you going to do something?"

Draco crossed his arms over his chest tightly and met her eyes fiercely. "What do you want me to do? Start crying in self-pity? Lose my temper and smash my fist into the wall? Because if you're waiting for some dramatic reaction, it's not going to happen, that's not the Malfoy way."

Hermione narrowed her eyes at him angrily. "I didn't mean anything like that. You just never show any emotion, never act spontaneously or unguardedly." She hesitated when he looked at her questioningly and ended lamely, "I just don't know how you do it."

Then he smiled a little, a small sort-of crooked grin. "Practice, Granger, years of practice."

She returned his smile reluctantly, but slowly the expression melted from her face as she began to look through the green folder. Instead it transformed into a firm, determined line. Slowly she leaned forward so that she was looking directly into Draco's pale gray eyes.

"Personally, I'm not pleased with your sentence. I proposed a much more lenient plan, but they wouldn't hear me out."

He raised an eyebrow, coolly quizzical and oddly interested. "Your point?"

Her determination faded a bit from her face and she ran a hand through her messy curls in frustration, but continued anyway.

"My point is that I'm willing to fight for something better, if that's what you want. But I'm not going to spend hours working for a more appropriate sentence if you are still holding onto your theory that you deserve to stay here. You have to let me help you."

He looked down at his crossed arms, eyes wrinkled in thought as he unknowingly stared at the garish black mark painted on the inside of his forearm. The dark picture mocked him, glaringly evil, reminding him of all the crimes he'd committed, all the problems he's created, all the lives he had so blindly stolen. He didn't respond.

Softly, whispering only loud enough for him to just barely hear her, Hermione spoke again. "Come on, Malfoy, let me help you. You've paid enough already, and you've changed. You're not the Death Eater you were when you first came to this place. You're a man who deserves a better life now. Please, let me help you."

Bitterly, more to himself than to his brunette lawyer, Draco indicated to the hideous tattoo tainting his skin and spoke disgustedly, "Then what's this?"

Hermione continued to look at him resolutely, but now a sort of distant sadness chilled her once warm eyes.

"It's a reminder, to show you how far you've come and to help you remember the fetters you loosed yourself of. It's to tell you that although you have a past, you can still have a future. It's to let you know what kind of a person you are now." Her voice was slow and sure, her words weighted to carry the surprising faith she had in him.

He finally broke. The cold mask slipped off his smooth face to reveal a young man who could barely stay together, driven into shame and despair by his horrible past. He dropped his head into his hands, his fine hair hanging to hide his eyes. His entire countenance radiated sadness and regret.

When he spoke, his voice was hoarse, raspy, as if it took a great deal of effort just to form lucid words. "I don't want to be here, not now, not for fifty years."

Hermione sighed, relieved, and nodded her head almost imperceptibly, her chocolate curls bouncing slightly. "That's all I needed to know."

For a long time they sat there, he still bent over his hands, she still straight and stalwart. She left him alone and didn't speak again, letting him purge himself of all his doubts and misgivings without interference. But she was there, unwavering and comforting in her presence.

After half an hour of total silence, the scraping of Hermione's chair signaled her coming departure. She stood behind the table for a moment before lightly dropping a copy of _The Daily Prophet_ in front of Draco, not speaking, but waiting for him to look up.

He finally glanced at the paper and turned to her. She knew the precise moment he began replacing his mask, but before it was completely rebuilt he allowed her a smile. It was hesitant, timid, meek, but it was filled with a reluctant gratitude and real appreciation.

"Thanks, Granger. For everything."

Her face lighted in genuine happiness, a demure smile gracing her lips, and replied, "You're welcome. I'll do my best to get you out of here."

He nodded and sighed, gathering himself and standing, his chin angled strongly, his eyes once again stoic and intelligent.

"Then I'll see you soon. Goodbye." Then he swiftly turned on heel and rapped on the door, disappearing when the guard let him through.

Hermione shook her head in wonder but picked up her case and folders with a smile as she left.

X

She didn't come the next week, or the next.

In Azkaban, the time stretched endlessly with nothing to break it up, a dark line running continuously until it disappeared into blackness. The days dragged by monotonously, blurring and fusing into one another until Draco could hardly keep track of the date. But he did, and he knew that it was exactly seventeen days before she returned.

When he walked into the visiting room, slow and lethargic from lack of stimulation, he was shocked to find Hermione with her head tucked in the crook of her arm as she lay against the table. The expected copy of _The Daily Prophet_ lay on the table in front of her.

Noiselessly, Draco slid out his chair, sat down, and reached for the newspaper before opening it and beginning to read. Occasionally he would lower the paper to glance at the sleeping brunette before continuing through the articles.

She jerked up as he turned the last page, the slightest purple spots bruised under each of her eyes. She seemed surprised to find herself at the prison, as if she had forgotten she had come.

Draco's eyebrows were perched high on his brow, amusement written all across his face. Meticulously he folded the paper and placed it on the table.

"You look like you haven't slept for weeks." He was stating the obvious, the way he would mention that grass was green or the sky was blue.

She let out a tired chuckle. "That's because I haven't." She sighed and propped herself up on her elbows, as if she wouldn't be able to stay upright otherwise.

They sat in the quiet for a length before she broke the silence.

"So are you going to ask?"

"Ask what?"

Hermione frowned and sent penetrating eyes on him, before waving a slender hand dismissively.

"Nevermind." She paused to glance at him curiously before inquiring, "Isn't your birthday soon?"

His eyes widened in slight surprise, but he nodded anyway. "Yeah, it's on the fifteenth."

She bobbed her head confidently and replied, "That's what I thought. I knew I read somewhere that you had a February birthday."

They were silent again, this time an awkward vacuum permeating the air around them.

Then Hermione finally reached over and pulled out a large yellow envelope, like the kind used to owl lengthy posts. It was plain and unadorned except for Draco's name scrawled in orderly, feminine cursive across the front.

She held it out to him hesitantly, her face carefully blank of any emotions.

He took it after a moment, suspiciously eyeing it before he slit it open and pulled out the parchment inside. He read it in silence, his perfectly blond eyebrows rising higher and higher as he continued.

After a minute or so, Draco met Hermione's eyes, his own wide in shock.

She smiled as she spoke. "Consider it an early birthday gift. Sorry it's not wrapped."

He didn't look away from her face and he didn't speak. He just met her eyes, intense, if not incredulous. Soon it unnerved her and she shifted on her chair.

"What? Why are you looking at me like that?" She frowned and furrowed her dark eyebrows worriedly.

Draco shook his head disbelievingly, but finally spoke. "Five years? It had to have taken a miracle to get such a change."

Her frown slowly grew into a smile again. "A miracle and a whole lot of work. When I said I haven't slept for weeks, I mean I really haven't."

He finally smiled, glancing down at the paper and then back to her. "You're some attorney, Granger."

She smirked sarcastically and rolled her eyes. "Thanks," she said, pausing before continuing more seriously. "It took me a week just to get a private hearing with the Council, and then another week to convince them to see eye to eye with me. I've never done so much reasoning and persuading in my life. Even still, they only allowed this on the grounds that your sentence could be changed if they deemed it fit, so you better behave."

He chuckled. "You know I always do."

She outright laughed then, the sound bubbling out of her mouth, genuine and gentle. "Yeah, Malfoy. You're the epitome of good behavior."

He smirked at her, but didn't disagree. They smiled at each other for a few minutes before she cleared her throat awkwardly.

"Well, I had better go. I seriously need some sleep."

He nodded, only a touch of disappointment showing as he moved to stand. They looked at each other across the table until he spoke.

He said his words with a half-smile, but they sounded all but happy. "Maybe I'll see you in five years then."

She nodded, her eyes looking away from his face. Softly, she repeated, "Maybe in five years."

Then he turned away and walked to the door. He didn't look back at her as he left.

As soon as the door closed behind Draco's retreating figure, Hermione sank back into her chair wearily. She rubbed her fingers over her eyes for a moment, but let out a dry whimper and dropped her head into her hands sadly.

She stayed there alone for a long time, silently contemplating.

X

A/N: Ah, I bet you all hate me for ending this chapter like that, but I'm kind of proud of the rest. Anyway, it's not over; there are still two more chapters! I'll update fast, I'm out of school for a week. Thanks to everyone who reviewed chapter 4, you guys are so awesome. Leave a review if you want to make me happy!


	6. Sparks Fly

X Chapter 6: Sparks Fly

It was amazing how a bare stone wall could capture and hold Draco's attention. He had been staring thoughtlessly at the north wall of his cell for hours and had given up counting the stones when he reached 327. But there wasn't much else for him to do, so the blond convict simply stared.

His rapture was stolen by the interruption of clanking keys. His guard carelessly slid the cell door open, grunted an unintelligible command, and motioned for Draco to follow him.

Confused yet obedient, Draco stood up languidly and strode out behind the guard. They stopped in front of the familiar visiting room door and the burly guard shoved him through roughly.

Draco stopped in shock just inside the room, a slight frown creasing his mouth, one eyebrow quirked inquisitively.

He directed his gaze towards his returned lawyer and demanded, "What's he doing here?" as he gestured with one pale hand at the black-haired, green-eyed young man beside her.

Hermione sighed and motioned towards his usual chair. She was standing at the end of the table; Harry Potter was sitting in her chair.

"He has a few questions he wants to personally ask you. Please, will you let him?" Her words sounded firm and decisive, but those eyes, those chocolate eyes, were silently pleading, asking.

Draco stared at her for a minute as the room filled with an awkward silence. Then he huffed offendedly and recklessly pulled out his chair. It scraped noisily against the hard floor.

"Fine, but I'm not promising anything."

Hermione smiled. "That's fine. Harry, go ahead." She nodded encouragingly to her childhood friend then turned to Draco.

Both men were glaring at each other so fiercely that the very air between them seemed charged, tangible in its intense heat. After a long, pregnant pause, Harry finally spoke.

"I wasn't at your trial, but I was given a full account of the information you gave. Is it all true?"

Draco frowned. "Of course, it's true. What would be the point of lying?"

Harry raised an eyebrow suspiciously. "For all we know, you could be feeding us false information because you're still loyal to Voldemort. You could be setting a trap, an ambush, anything, and we wouldn't know the difference."

Draco hit his fist on the table, not exactly angrily, but hard enough to emphasize his point. "I am not lying! I want to get rid of him as much as anyone else wants to. Don't try to discredit me."

Harry rolled his eyes. "I'm not trying to discredit you, Malfoy. There's just no way we can fully trust that what you've given us is real."

Draco crossed his arms across his chest, his jaw set firmly. "You can trust me because I'm telling the truth."

"We don't know you're telling the truth!"

"Harry!"

Both men looked up in surprise when Hermione admonished her friend. One hand lay loosely on her hip, the other slightly clenched beside her. Her eyes were tight and her mouth hard. She spoke low, determinedly.

"He's telling the truth."

Harry's mouth opened slightly in astonishment, but Draco smirked comfortably and sat back in his chair. Harry glanced at Draco quickly and then turned to Hermione, leaning forward and whispering.

"Hermione, I don't trust him."

Hermione sighed, but she responded quietly, "I know. But I do, and don't you trust me and my judgement?"

Harry sighed grudgingly after a moment's hesitation and nodded.

"Besides," she added, "It's not like we have much else to go off of. Just believe him, Harry. You've got no other option."

Draco rolled his eyes in frustration. "I'm still here. I can hear everything you two are saying."

Harry and Hermione turned back to Draco.

"Sorry."

Then Harry looked down at his hands and shook his head slightly, as if he couldn't really believe he was in Azkaban interrogating his former school rival. He knotted his fingers tightly and placed them on the surface of the table, leaning in and pasting his serious Auror expression on his face.

"It's very important that you tell us all you know. Is there anything that you didn't say in court that could be of help to us?"

Draco looked at the two of them before settling his eyes on Hermione. She was meeting his gaze, her eyes soft around the edges, mouth drawn in a mild smile. She raised her eyebrows when he looked at her, as if asking the same question.

Draco sighed, his eyes never leaving Hermione. Harry glanced between them, his black brows drawn together.

"There might be something else. Potter, do you know what a Horcrux is?"

Both of the former Gryffindors' heads turned to face him. Their synchronization was almost comical. Harry's eyes were wide and Hermione's eyebrows shot up.

"Yes, do you know anything about them?" Harry's voice was not longer caustic or contemptuous. It was simply anticipating and hopeful.

Draco nodded skeptically. "I think so. I didn't mention anything before because it's seemed like something that should be given in confidence. I believe that Voldemort has created seven. It's the perfect number; it holds ancient magical powers."

Harry nodded anxiously. "Yes, that's what we thought too."

Hermione broke in here. "We have already found and destroyed six. If you knew where the last one was…"

Harry shot her a reproving glare. "You shouldn't have told him that."

With a withering expression across her face, Hermione returned, "He already knows about them, and it's not like he's going to tell anyone. He's in prison."

Draco chuckled at her comment and Harry turned his sharp glare to him. "Fine." He continued on resentfully. "We destroyed six, but we don't have the faintest idea about the last one. We already found one item belonging to each of Hogwarts' founders, and two that pertain to his childhood memories. I can't imagine what the last one would be. Do you know what it is?"

Draco smirked. "Maybe I do, maybe I don't."

Harry's face contorted in barely controlled rage. "Malfoy! This is not a time to be funny. Get off your high horse and tell us what you know!"

Draco looked mockingly scandalized. "I'm not going to tell you if you're going to have a fit. Maybe I just won't tell you at all."

Hermione outstretched a hand just as Harry began to launch himself over the table, but she couldn't stop him from colliding with the magical barrier separating Draco from Harry and herself. Bright sparks emitted from all contact points and loud popping sounds filled the room.

Harry sat back in his chair penitently, a bit shaken from having caused a small firework display. Draco was lying back in his chair, laughing silently, and Hermione had cracked a bemused smile.

"I warned you about that, Harry."

Harry huffed, as if greatly offended, and turned to Hermione. "Well, I wouldn't have lost my temper if Malfoy wasn't such an insufferable moron."

Draco smirked and rolled his eyes.

"Make him tell us about the last Horcrux, Hermione," Harry demanded, almost sounding like a whiny child.

Hermione groaned inaudibly. "I can't make him do anything, Harry."

"But if you ask, he'll do it. He listens to you." It wasn't exactly a statement, it was more like a question, as if Harry was testing a theory.

Hermione sighed wearily then turned to Draco. "Malfoy, will you please tell us, me, about the last Horcrux?" Her voice sounded tired and strained. There was a small crease on her forehead between her eyebrows, giving the illusion that she was imploring, pleading with him to answer.

He glared at Harry for a while as he contemplated, but finally turned back to Hermione. His words were spoken quietly, but he had their complete attention.

"Voldemort's mother was a Pureblood, as you know. She's the only person he may have ever loved, or even had affection for, simply because of her heritage. He values her blood, her lineage that runs through him. I once learned that when she abandoned him to his Muggle father, she left one item of hers behind in her son's possession. It was a single pearl, milky and smooth, that had been passed down in her family for generations. At some point I think it held some historical value, but no one remembers what it was now. All I know is that Voldemort carries it around his neck on a silver chain as a symbol of his pure heritage. He never lets it out of his sight."

"So you think it's a Horcrux?" Harry asked, all malevolency gone.

Draco nodded resolutely. "I'd bet my life on it. He treasures that pearl more than anything else."

Hermione had a ponderous look on her face, her mouth angled to the right, eyes slightly closed. After a moment's thought, she interjected, "Well, that poses a problem for us then, if he always has it with him. You'd have to destroy the Horcrux and kill him at the same time."

The men nodded slowly in confirmation. Harry's face was grim but determined, his eyes already calculating the best way to use this new information. His Auror training was coming into play.

"Is that all, Malfoy?"

Draco crinkled his brow for a minute before shaking his head. "Everything else you already know. For real, this time."

Harry nodded firmly. "Alright." He stood slowly, running his hands down his thighs to remove the creases in his pants.

Draco stood across from him, so that they were looking directly at each other. With an incline of his head towards Harry, he turned and offered a small half-smile to Hermione. Then he moved away and headed to the door.

Almost there, Hermione's sharp call stopped him.

"Wait!"

He pivoted to find her shuffling in her bag and drawing out the usual section of _The Daily Prophet._ She held it out to him with a smile. He reached out a willowy hand and took it from her slowly, watching her face.

"Thanks, Granger. Goodbye."

"Goodbye," she replied softly. Her eyes followed him as he walked through the door.

After Draco had left, she turned to Harry. Brightly, she said, "Well, let's go. We have planning to do."

He didn't say anything, just gazed at her, a mixed expression of surprise, revelation, and amusement on his face. "Why'd you bring him the newspaper?" He had one eyebrow quirked, as if he already knew the answer and he simply wanted to gauge her reaction.

Hermione looked away from him and shrugged her shoulders. "I always do." Then she faced the door and walked away from him, knowing that he would follow without having to look back.

Harry paused to shake his head slightly in disbelief before walking out himself, leaving the visiting room and strange, new emotions behind.

A/N: Hmm, like it? Don't like it? Let me know! Oh, and I couldn't remember much about Horcruxes and didn't want to look it up, so if there's an error, please tell me.

P.S. I think I'm adding another chapter, so the next one might not be the last (It just keeps getting longer!). Thanks to those who reviewed last time! Happy Easter!


	7. Scars

X Chapter 7: Scars

She was smiling, the kind of smile that hints of a secret or some hidden happiness. She looked all too comfortable sitting in the visiting room of the infamous Wizarding jail dressed in her simple slacks and a gray pullover.

"What are you doing here?" he asked, eyebrows raised questioningly, his pleased surprise concealed carefully underneath his exterior.

Her eyes sparkled mysteriously as she answered, "Somebody has to bring you your Quidditch."

And he smiled back.

So began the stayed tradition. She came every Friday with a copy of the sports section and told him of her week: the progress she and Harry were making towards the war, her new cases, the fights she had with Ron when she occasionally saw him, or a visit to her parents' home. She would laugh and smile as she talked, and he would listen with a calm, contented expression on his face.

He learned more about her during this time than he had ever known through school. He knew that she always carried mints in the bottom of her bag, that she preferred black ink over blue, and that she had always wanted to be two inches taller, exactly two. But he also learned of her deepest fears, hopes, and dreams as she came to him as an outlet. Azkaban, which for so many had been a place of confinement and despair, became a refuge, a safe haven where she could openly let out all of her buried problems. And so he listened, and occasionally inserted something of his own so that soon she knew a lot about him too.

She knew that he hated blond jokes, and that he truly loved the color green. She knew that he had never had a close friendship with anyone, instead he had meticulously created shared bonds, alliances, that he would somehow benefit from. He loved the winter and felt a cold kinship with snow and rain and often gleaned great comfort from storms. She knew that he loved his mother despite her flaws and her inability to stand up for herself. But most of all, she knew, and had known for many months, that his greatest regret had always been the moment he had foolishly decided to follow Voldemort.

X

She didn't come to see him the first Friday in May. It was the first week she had missed since after she had given him his final sentence, and now Draco was certain that he truly looked forward to seeing her, her face as it lit while she talked, her hands as they rested gracefully on the table, her hair as it animatedly curled about her face, her eyes and the way they gave away all of her feelings.

And he worried. It was a strange feeling, alien and uncomfortable, this distress over Hermione and what might have happened to her. So when he was led out of his cell the next week, he was immensely relieved, both because she was here and safe and because his anxiety could finally disappear.

But the moment he walked through the door of the visiting room, his apprehensive concerns flooded back harshly like a giant dam breaking.

Quickly he strode to his seat, yanked out his chair, sat down heavily, and leaned forward onto the table so he could see her face. She didn't even look up, just slid a complete issue of _The Daily Prophet_ towards him. It's blaring headlines stretched across the front page in large, block letters.

THE BOY-WHO-LIVED VICTORIOUS!

MINIMAL LOSSES BRING CELEBRATION

JUBILATION SPREADS ACROSS WIZARDING WORLD

VOLDEMORT DEFEATED, NOW WHAT?

He looked back to her in shock, knowing that she looked nowhere near as "jubilant" as the paper said. Instead he met the face of a woman who was utterly broken. She was carelessly dressed in loose fitting sweats, a large pullover with the word OXFORD printed across the front nearly drowned her. Her hair was pulled back haphazardly and the curls were tangled and beginning to come out of the tie. She wore no makeup, and a slight, two-inch scar across her cheek was conspicuously visible. Draco recognized it as the sort of mark spells left behind when cuts were magically healed very hastily. The harsh, painfully straight, white line marred her face and seemed to embody her obvious suffering.

He didn't know what to say, and he didn't quite understand why she was so upset. He would have thought she would have been overwhelmingly happy about such an event. So he simply sat for several minutes, watching as her heart struggled to come to terms with whatever grief or shock she was experiencing.

After several long moments of strained silence, Draco finally spoke softly.

"Granger?"

She only closed her eyes tightly, as if shutting out painful memories or images and refused to acknowledge him.

He spoke again, a cautious whisper like his voice was walking across hot coals. "What's wrong? Hermione?"

Her name brought up her eyes. They were fractured, like shards of shattered glass splayed across the floor. When she finally replied, her voice was small and sad, but her words were sharp and bitter, her caustic tone dripping heavily to the floor.

"Minimal losses." She scoffed. "Yeah right. They always try to put a positive spin on everything." She stared at her hands and sighed tiredly, wearily. "The entire Auror department was cut in half, and a lot of our volunteer Wizarding police are gone too. Over fifty innocent civilians died, including many Muggles who didn't even know what was happening."

Draco wasn't really surprised at the statistics. He had actually estimated more.

She continued, as if she had to force out the story. "Everything was going according to plan. We infiltrated Voldemort's headquarters without a problem, surrounding that little cottage you told us about. We also had several units at each Apparition point that were ready to move the moment they were given the signal. I knew it was too easy, but I couldn't help being completely shocked when we were ambushed from behind. Somehow, the Death Eaters had been tipped off and knew of our arrival. We were trapped for a long time during a bloody battle. That's when the bulk of our forces were hewn down, but we put up a fight and eliminated almost all of the Death Eaters."

Hermione paused as she absently fingered the scar across her cheek, her eyes looking over Draco's shoulder, her mouth parted slightly.

"I remember falling and not being able to get up. My face was bleeding, I could feel it running down my neck and getting in my hair, but it didn't hurt. It was like I wasn't there anymore, helpless almost." A dry sob interrupted her reminiscing. "I thought I was going to die, forgotten and left behind on the battlefield. I've never been so scared."

Her hands were shaking and pale, bordering on cadaverous. Draco had never wanted to touch her more, and the intense need to take her hands in his and still them, warm them, frightened him slightly.

She continued despite becoming increasingly distraught, her voice unfeeling and unemotional, as if she were telling an old story. "I must have passed out, because the next thing I knew I was sitting in St. Mungo's. There was no one there, and nobody came when called. I felt so alone, and I think I began to panic. Finally a nurse came in and hovered over me, but she left almost as quickly as she came. The expression on her face worried me." Hermione frowned in confusion, a pained expression on her own face.

"When they finally released me after two days of silence and anxiety, I went to the Weasleys' house to find someone who would tell me what happened. Mrs. Weasley was there, sitting at the table alone, silently crying. She filled me in on the rest of the day. Harry had finally found Voldemort and destroyed him and the pearl Horcrux with the help of Ron. There was some sort of magical explosion, like all the Dark magic Voldemort had ever used was released in one last volatile blast. Everyone inside the headquarters was killed except Harry. No one knows how he survived again."

Then her face became ghost-like as she recited the death count. "Most, or at least half, our forces were killed, including Remus Lupin, Minerva McGonagall, Fred Weasley, Ginny Weasley, and Ron Weasley. Almost everyone had someone they were completely attached to die. Tonks is completely distraught, and I know George feels like part of him is missing. If Harry wasn't comatose, I'm sure he'd be completely heartbroken over Ginny. They should have grown old together."

She didn't say anything about Ron, so Draco assumed that he was just too raw a subject to talk about.

Then she began to cry. Slowly, a single tear leaked out of one of her eyes and dripped down her face and off her chin. Others began to follow, like tiny rivulets of tangible sorrow. He had never seen her cry before, it was just something she had always refused to do. Stubbornly, she had always kept in her tears. But here she was, unashamedly letting them fall without trying to withhold them. His cold heart thawed and nearly broke as he realized the extent of her grief.

Then she surprised him with her next words. They were so quiet, whispered, so that he was almost sure he didn't hear them right.

"And it's all my fault."

He was puzzled. "How can this be your fault? You did everything you could to prevent this from happening, you put in hours of planning, you almost died yourself." His voice cracked almost imperceptibly as he finished.

"That's just it. I played a big part in the leadership, planning, and execution of this last battle. But I feel like I still didn't do enough, and that because of my lack of thinking, I put all those people in danger."

Another urge to comfort her, to reach for her trembling hands overwhelmed Draco's thoughts for a moment before he spoke again.

"Listen to me, Hermione. You did everything you could to spare anyone you could. Without you, there would have been a lot more losses. Because of you, the Wizarding world is safe. Children will be able to walk in the streets without fearing Voldemort, and parents will let them. The Light won, and you helped them." He paused for a moment as an ironic thought swirled through his mind. So often it was Hermione telling him that everything was going to be okay, that he was not a bad person, and here their roles were reversed.

His next words were emotional and heartfelt, as if he was recalling his own past feelings. "You'll always have regrets, believe me, they're inescapable, but you can overcome them and move on with your life."

Slowly she met his eyes, her own filled with fragile hope and an intense longing to believe.

"Are you sure?"

He nodded resolutely. "It just takes a little time, and someone to help you along the way." He smiled at her then, comforting and reassuring, the most sincere expression he had ever revealed, granted, given to her.

She nodded too and sighed deeply. Bright tear tracks glistened down her cheeks, echoing her new scar. "Thank you, Draco."

They sat in silence, he allowing her time to herself to breathe and think like she had always done for him. After a long time, she looked up at him with a small, tentative smile.

"I'll see you next week, Draco."

He nodded once in relief and sighed as he stood. "Next week, Hermione." Then he turned toward the door, that same smile lingering on his face. As the heavy door closed behind him, he wondered at how they had grown over her visits, how they could so effortlessly be able to communicate, how their transferred words so seamlessly traded, their almost innate abilities to read each other. And as he walked back to his cell, he realized just how easy it had been to say her name.

A/N: Sorry it took so long to update, it's been a busy week. But there (for sure this time!) is only one chapter left and I'll hopefully have it posted in three or four days. But in the mean time, let me know what you think of this chapter, I always love your reviews. Special shout-out to Marionette, you're a lifesaver. Did this work?


	8. Passing the Time

X Chapter 8: Passing the Time

She came back the next week, just like she had said she would. She was obviously still upset, but Draco could tell she was trying to move on already. She told him about the measures she was taking to continue living her life and overcome her grief, and he listened with an attentive ear.

Her visits for the next three months progressed the same way as she began reverting back to her strong, optimistic self. And the better she felt, the more she listened to him. Soon they were having normal, two-way conversations instead of the halting, comforting words they had previously exchanged.

He knew whenever she got a new client, and she knew when a new inmate was moved into the cell next to his. He was the first to know of her true joy when Harry came out of his coma; she was the first to know when his mother unexpectedly came to see him. He told her of Narcissa's tears and the awkwardness he felt as she apologized to him for years of neglect, and Hermione listened and offered careful words of advice.

She told him about the new flat she had been able to find when she got a raise and how she now loved living in the heart of the city, and he helped her understand the finer points of Quidditch as he pointed out details in the issue of _The Daily Prophet_ she always brought.

And when, after being in Azkaban for six months, Draco's hair had gotten just a little too shaggy for his taste, she arranged a haircut for him despite the rules and regulations she had to step around. Neither would admit it, but through those visits, they grew close and even became friends. They relied on each other as an escape from their monotonous and, at times, overwhelming lives, and each of them were able to unconsciously slip into that role smoothly, with no hesitation.

X

They were sitting quietly. He was reading the paper and she had pulled out a crisp, new novel. It was a habit they had developed over the course of the last two years: she would give him time to read about his Quidditch while enjoying a bit of reading herself, then they would lay down their materials so they could talk.

The silence was warm and heavy, but not stifling, much like the comfort of a cup of hot cocoa on a cold day. It was easy and content, as such silences can only be when between people who had known each other for a long time.

He smiled slowly as he folded his paper and she looked over the brim of her book at the light rustling. Sliding a torn piece of parchment between the pages, Hermione closed the cover and pushed it aside.

"Anything good happening?" she asked, as was their habit.

He tilted his head to the side and crinkled the tips of his eyes, much like a dog in curious contemplation. "The Irish are going to the World Cup again this year."

"Oh, really? Who are they playing?"

Draco chuckled for a moment. Her interest was, as always, an impressive façade. He indulged her anyway. "Egypt. It'll be a good match."

She nodded slightly and muttered a noncommittal, "Hmm."

He chuckled again. She was always the same, letting him talk about the sport despite her lack of real interest.

He cleared his throat slightly and moved on. "So what's happened since last Friday? Didn't you say you had a job interview at Hartley & Bells?"

Hermione's eyes lit up as he changed the subject. "Oh, yes! I forgot. So I went in to the main office off Diagon Alley, it's down the street from Gringotts, you know the one?"

He nodded, just hiding a small smile.

"Well, I arrived early and was able to talk to an employee that was in the lobby. He said that it was a wonderful place to work. But anyway, I got called in to Mr. Hartley's office and talked to him for awhile. I guess it went really well because he called me back two days later and offered me the job!"

His mouth broke into a grin. "That's great, Granger! You really wanted that position."

She nodded but looked down at her hands, almost bashful. "I know, and it's a great opportunity, but I'm kind of scared to accept it. This isn't just the non-profit Ministry firm anymore, this is Hartley & Bells, the largest law firm in Wizarding England! What if I start to work there and I'm not good enough?" Her voice had risen a bit in slight panic and her hands were shaking slightly.

Now Draco fully laughed, great bubbles of mirth jumping from his throat. His head was tilted back so he didn't see Hermione's fierce glare.

"Stop laughing at me! It's not funny!" she snapped.

He calmed quickly and looked her in the face, but his voice was still laced with amusement as he replied, "I'm only laughing at your absurdity. You're the most determined person I know, and you accomplish anything you set your mind to. If you decided you wanted to catch the moon in a fishing net, you could do it. Comparatively, this job will be simple for you."

She sighed, relief and exasperation coating the sound, but her lips began to tilt upwards and her eyes warmed as a soft pink tinged her cheeks. "That's what everyone else said."

He smiled. "Maybe everyone else right. Besides, you never know what this job may bring for you. Fame, fortune, some handsome attorney to sweep you off your feet."

Playfully, she stuck her tongue out, probing another laugh from him. "Fame and fortune may sound appealing, but I don't know about the handsome attorney part."

He cocked a light eyebrow curiously. "Oh? And why is that?"

She blew out a puff of air sharply, the curls around her face swirling slightly.

"Just because, okay? Besides, most male lawyers I know are morons."

He laughed again. "Well, what about some other guy? I'm surprised you haven't been snapped up yet, a young, successful, brilliant know-it-all. What man could resist that?" He finished with a wide smirk as he crossed his long arms over his chest.

She sent a scathing look his way as she replied with a slow, sarcastic laugh, her chin set defiantly.

There was a pause for a moment as she rolled her eyes, but Draco simply placed his forearms on the table, and, as if truly realizing for the first time, asked, "Well? Why are you still single?"

His serious tone of voice prompted a raised brow from Hermione. She looked down at her hands and breathed out, as if deciding what to say.

"I guess I just never found the one."

He looked at her for several silent, heavy moments, an unreadable expression drawn across his face. He opened his mouth to reply, but closed it again. Re-parting his lips decisively, he asked, his voice low and unthreatening, "Is it because of Weasley?"

Hermione's head snapped up, her eyes wide in quiet surprise. For a moment she sat in silent contemplation, her eyebrows furrowed in thought. Then she met Draco's eyes firmly, if not sadly.

She shook her head, her brown tresses swaying. "No. Ron and I weren't meant for each other, even while he was alive, and we discovered that pretty early on. I mean, we tried it for a little while, but we were such opposites. He was impulsive, hot-tempered, loud, and let the whole world know how he was feeling right at that moment. I'm logical, overly cool at times, and I prefer to keep my feelings to myself. We just didn't complement each other."

Draco nodded slowly in understanding. Against his will, his mind began to categorize himself on Hermione's list. In every way, he was Ron's opposite. If he was Ron's opposite, didn't that put him on the same side as Hermione?

Desperately, trying to force his mind back into gear, he asked, "But what about the 'opposites attract' theory?" Effectively pulling on a smug mask, he waited patiently for her reply.

Hermione half-smiled. "There are two kinds attraction, Malfoy. One is purely physical, that raw passion that drives people to go after someone they want. Sometimes that one is irrational, short-lived, but it's the one to forge the first romantic connection. Then there's another type, the kind that draws people together, emotionally, mentally, and spiritually. It's kind of like a magnet that pulls certain people close, as if they were somehow meant to affect each other down the road. That's the one that forms friendships, and that's the kind of attraction Ron and I had. You need a careful mix of both, and a little something else, to have a lasting romantic relationship. We only had friendship between us, and we realized that we were worked best that way."

Her words were wistful, almost, but sincere and wise.

"Do you ever wish it had worked between you two?" It surprised him how much he cared, how much anxiety he felt over such a small question. He really shouldn't care so much, so why was his heart beating just a little bit faster, his blood running just a little bit hotter?

Hermione smiled at him. "Not really. When I finally find someone, I want to know, without a doubt, that he's the one, the one man I'm meant to spend my life with. I don't want to settle for someone just because they're convenient, or because I _want _it to work. It has to be more than that, more like a need so strong that I'm willing to cross the world on foot to make it work, and he will be too. That would never have happened with Ron and me."

Draco nodded again. "Oh," he commented lamely, but inside, his heart seemed to be smiling.

She widened her grin. "What about you? Is there some girl out there you hope to see after you get out of here, or are you still waiting for the right one?"

He chuckled wryly. "Nope, I'm still waiting. I guess there's just never been a woman who really stood out to me."

She frowned a bit and raised a brow. "Love isn't something that jumps at you, Malfoy. It's slow, gradual, and strong. You have to find it, after searching long and hard. It may be born with a single meeting or an attraction, but it always has to grow from something else, and it involves a lot of waiting until you finally realize that it's bloomed even though you never quite saw it. You may have been staring it straight in the face, but you could never recognize what it was. Love takes more than a simple passing, a walk by, so how can you expect the right one to just 'stand out to you'?"

He smiled and rolled his eyes lightheartedly. "I guess I can't. I just always assumed that I would meet a girl and right from the start she would totally amaze me and I would feel like I was looking into the face of the most brilliant, extraordinary person that ever graced this earth."

She smiled back, her eyes soft and dark. "First impressions aren't always the best impressions, or the right ones, but you never know, maybe that is what will happen. Don't worry though. If I can find the right man for me, than you can certainly find the right woman for you."

He chuckled. "Fine, it's deal."

A slightly confused, yet amused expression graced her features. "A deal?"

He nodded with a smirk. "Of course. If you find someone, then I'll find someone."

She laughed at him, her voice light and musical. "Alright then. It's a deal."

They smiled for a moment before one of them broke the silence with a new subject and they heartily began to talk about something completely different, all thoughts about their romantic lives drifting away like gauzy clouds in a clear sky.

It never occurred to them that romantic lives just may be intertwined, or that they could keep that deal by killing two birds with one stone.

X

A/N: First, I'd like to apologize for two reasons.

1) My tragically late update. Two weeks! I'm so ashamed. But my muses went on vacation and I also wanted to wait until the site had the alert system back up. So I'm sorry it took so long. Writer's block sucks.

2) I lied. This isn't the last chapter. When my muses finally got back from vacation, they kidnapped me and made me write this additional chapter. Good news is that I have already written the next chapter, and it IS the last one for sure. I will post it in a few days, I promise (cross my heart, this time). It's already uploaded, so it won't take long.

Anyway, thanks to all who reviewed last chapter, I dedicate this one to you! Maybe I'll give you something nicer if you review again. ; )

BIE


	9. Five Years

Chapter 9: Five Years

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Five years. That was how long it had been since Draco Malfoy had seen anything other than the bare, cold walls of the infamous Wizarding prison. And today was the day when he would finally be able to walk as a free man, no shackles to bind his hands, no chains to drag behind his feet.

He was standing in a stark room, one he had only ever been in once before when he was first taken to Azkaban. Even though it had been so long, Draco could clearly remember the events of that day and the exact way he felt. So much had changed.

The cold-hearted, pained man who had been brought to Azkaban's depths was gone. In his stead stood a man who was willing to turn his life around, to find a new start. He was not perfect, or close to perfect - nor would he ever become so. He was simply a man who had the desire to change despite his knowledge of the hardships he would encounter. The years had taught him of live's ability to continue and forgive, of the goodness to be found in people if he only took the time to look, and of the enduring hope and friendship certain people could naturally, endlessly give. He was still Draco Malfoy, pureblooded, independent, and intelligent, and sometimes still cynical and distrustful, but now he had a second chance to overcome his instinctually malign traits to emerge from the prison as a man improved.

The guard coughed once and brought Draco out of his reverie, pointing to several long tables stretched across one wall with square tubs. He motioned at the box second to the left.

"Your robes and possessions are in there. When you've changed, exit out that door," indicating to a solid exit across the room, "and get your wand from the witch behind the counter. You'll then be led outside where your escort will take you home."

Draco nodded silently as he stepped toward the tables and sensed rather than saw the guard leave. It felt odd to be in a strange place completely unguarded. For over five years, he had either been in a cell alone or in someone else's company wherever he went. He almost felt too exposed, naked. Quickly he shook off the disturbing feeling and reached into the tub.

His robes were the ones he had been wearing the day of his "capture," so one sleeve had a small tear and the hem was slightly jagged. Overall though, they were in a well enough condition, and as he slipped them over his head, a comforting familiarity swept over him. Where once they had been finely tailored, now they hung just loose enough to show he had lost a little weight over the years.

Feeling in his pockets, he withdrew a small piece of parchment, some loose change, and the tip of a broken quill. The parchment had the titles of books written across it in his fine, tidy scrawl, and Draco smiled as he remembered writing the list as he planned to stop by Flourish and Blotts. He never got around to it. Maybe now he would have time as he tried to form himself a new life.

Shaking off his thoughts, Draco turned to the door and hesitatingly pushed it open. The adjoining room was similar to the one he had previously occupied, only there were no tables. Instead a glass window across the top half of the wall allowed him to see a waspish little witch sitting behind it, piles of folders and loose papers laying around her.

Cautiously, he approached the counter and looked at the witch. She met his gaze with hard, jaded eyes. She had wrinkles on her forehead and around her mouth that made her look perpetually annoyed.

"Can I help you?" she asked, her tone sharp, biting, and none-too-friendly.

He hid a smile and replied, "Yes, please. I'm Draco Malfoy, here to pick up my wand."

Her eyes widened as he said his name and she quickly stood and disappeared out of sight. After several long minutes and lots of rustling and exasperated huffs, she finally emerged carrying a long box.

"Now, there have been restrictions placed on it, so you can only perform very basic magic for three months. It acts as a parole of sorts. Soon though, you will have full access to your magical capabilities."

Slowly, she slid the box through a small hole in the glass, just large enough for the box to glide through smoothly.

Almost in slow motion, Draco saw his hands reaching for the thin box seemingly on their own, detached limbs that were not his. They were lifting the lid off, and now there was his wand.

Suddenly he had complete control again, except he couldn't help the slight shaking of his right hand when he reached into the box. It felt warm to the touch, alive, pulsing with sparks and streams of magical currents. A rush of conflicting emotions came flooding at him: familiarity, relief, hope, regret, disgust. They raced through his mind, nipping each other's heels in their haste to gain dominance over his mind. He settled on a sort of hollow comfort as he rolled it over in his palm. He remembered how it felt, how it seemed to fit perfectly in the curl of his fist. Eleven inches, ebony, dragon heartstring. How like Draco it had once been – dark, mysterious, fueled by blood.

Now instead he felt a sort of remorseful kinship with the wood, as if it too was regretful of the spells, the dark curses that had once poured from within its magical depths.

The hawk-eyed witch interrupted his thoughts. "Do you have someone coming to pick you up?" she asked peevishly.

He looked back to her, and with a tight, polite smile replied, "Yes. She should be here now."

The witch nodded and twisted to press a bony finger to a metal plate on the countertop. Immediately, another burly guard swung open a door across the room and motioned for Draco to step forward.

Hesitantly, he walked across the room and followed the guard through the exit.

It was brighter outside, and Draco blinked rapidly as he walked behind the guard down the length of a sharp-looking metal fence. It was early dawn, the grey mists of morning swathing everything in a pale light. A harsh, winter wind blew against the gloomy prison whistling a wailing, unsettling song. It brought a stark coldness with it, dry and frigid and merciless. The distant sound of waves curling up against the rocky shoreline was almost drowned by the howling wind.

Abruptly, the fence ended at a tall gait. Shuffling in his pocket, the guard pulled out a ring of keys, selected one quickly, and turned it in the lock. The gate flashed a dim white before swinging open on invisible hinges. With a quick glance at the guard, Draco stepped through the opening.

The sudden closing made Draco turn and stare up at the fence, an unsure, unconfident expression flashing briefly across his face. An involuntary shiver danced up his spine as another hard gust of wind blew against his back.

"Malfoy?"

Twisting swiftly towards the sound, Draco's eyes quickly found Hermione standing a little ways away from the gate. She was wrapped in a long, fur-trimmed cloak and a scarlet scarf. Her hands were partially tucked and hidden in her pockets, bare and uncovered. She smiled as he faced her, her nose and cheeks an endearing pink, her hair curling around her head as the wind blew relentlessly.

"Come on, the Apparition point is down this way a bit," she said as she waved a paled hand at the slight path leading away from the building. She turned to start walking away, so Draco thrust his own hands into his robe pockets and hurried after her. He slowed as he caught up with her, glancing down at her for a moment before speaking.

"Thanks for coming to pick me up."

She looked his way as they meandered down toward the shore, a pleasant expression warming her face. "That's what friends do. After all these years, did you think I wouldn't?" she asked, a playful twinkle lighting her dark eyes.

His own face broke into an amused smile as he replied, "No, I'm just grateful. I don't think I could manage to Apparate after so long without splicing myself."

Her light laugh cut through the cold wind cheerfully. "We wouldn't want that, now would we?"

He chuckled and shook his head, contently bemused at the ease of their banter. He had finally come to terms with the idea of being Hermione's friend. Five years can do that to a man's thoughts. Now he simply reveled in a sort of blissful surprise when he was around her positive presence. She never failed to reveal something new and amazing about herself when she was with him, something he had never known or even expected about her, keeping their complex relationship alive and fascinating. He wasn't quite sure what he was going to do without her and her unwavering support now that he had been released, but that was a thought he had refused to confront for several reasons he didn't wish to acknowledge. He simply assumed that she would move on with her life now that he wasn't a charity case that needed care, despite how much the idea pained him.

Hermione stopped almost at the water, where the spray of the angry ocean could nearly reach her with its raging fingers. White foam erupted across the black rocks in sharp, severe contrast. She turned with a welcoming smile and motioned for him to come closer.

As he stepped onto the same rock she was standing on, she asked, "Where is it you want me to Apparate us to?"

He paused, just gazing down at her, a slight frown curving his lips. Running a hand loosely through his wind-swept hair, he furrowed his eyebrows and spoke haltingly, "I'm not sure. After all these years of being in one place, I don't know where I want to go now that I finally can."

Her eyes wrinkled softly in concern as her smile turned sad. "Don't you want to go home?"

He shook his head bitterly. "Malfoy Manor is not my home, it's just a place I once lived. I have no desire to go back."

She nodded in understanding and instinctively reached out a hand to comfort him. The moment she clasped his hand in her own, another shiver ran down his spine, this one not from the cold. They fit perfectly, her delicate fingers curved across his palm. He was staring at their connected hands in a sort of hesitant realization, and her expression seemed to mirror his. For five years they had never been able to touch, to feel, and now, abruptly, they were.

For so long, Draco had assumed he would always pull away if she ever touched him. But now he wasn't, nor did he want to. Instead, he found himself doing the very opposite. Without lucid thought, he moved closer to her, as if her warmth was drawing him near with the same effect the moon had on the oceans. She met his eyes, an unknown, almost unrecognizable emotion filling her own. He could only think one thing: five years, five years and I was never able to touch her.

"Draco."

A single word. A single word was all it took for his last shred of control to blow away, his weakened discipline to break. She was too close, too near.

So he kissed her.

It was so light, ever so gentle, that if not for the sudden rush of heat and warmth through his body, Draco could never be sure their lips actually touched. It was as if time itself had slowed and the only thing that mattered was the way he touched her, the way she felt. Long years had separated them, kept them from believing the extent of their feelings. But not anymore.

Then she leaned towards him and softly raised a small hand to his neck and pulled him even closer. Her other hand curled around his shoulder as if holding herself steady, keeping her from falling, completely collapsing into his arms. Draco could have sworn the very earth had ceased to spin.

It was like every cliché he had ever heard, electric and life-changing, yet still new and unique and totally different from anything he had ever known, could ever dream. It was the very definition of magic, the subtle, recognizeably familiar power magnified one hundred fold by time, exponentiated by the few feet that had always kept them apart.

He dropped a hand to her waist, pulling her towards him firmly because he now knew she was as essential to his survival as the very air around them. Because he now knew, without a doubt, that he was willing to cross the world on foot for her.

It was pathetic really. For five years, they had known everything about each other. For five years they have shared everything. So how had he not known this? How had he been able to look her in the face and deny to himself that he felt anything for her except a familiarity, a comfort, a gratefulness? How had he not been able to see it when it had been staring at him for years through brown, warm eyes?

And as they pulled apart ever so slightly, their lips still a mere hair-breadth apart, and as he felt her warm breath across his skin, he realized that this emotion, this feeling had been there almost the whole five years, lying unnoticed and dormant underneath all the commotion and complexity of their lives. He had just never been able to admit it to himself.

So now, the passion, emotion, the intensity between them finally recognized, finally admitted in the most undeniable form, he wrapped his other arm around her, across her back, so that she was as close to him as she could ever be. She sighed against his chest as he hid his face against her hair, brushing his lips against her jaw, her neck.

And as he whispered her name, her blessed, beautiful name, he knew that she was smiling.

The wind still blew, and the waves still crashed against the rocky shoreline, but now none of that seemed to matter.

Her words were muffled against him as she spoke, but he clearly heard what she said.

"Draco, let's go home."

He didn't know where home was, but her words still made him smile and caused a kind of brightness within him, because he didn't really care where home was as long Hermione was there, as long as she was with him.

And as she pulled a little bit away to fumble in her pocket for her wand, as she smiled at him as she grasped it in her hand, as he grinned back and pushed a lock of dark hair behind her ear, and as they Disapparated from that rocky shore and away from the prison that had held him captive, Draco knew that five years wasn't too long to wait for a love like this.

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A/N: There it is, folks. The final, sappy, extra-long chapter of Five Years and the end of my first multi-chaptered fanfiction. I would have never done it without all of your support.

A special thanks to all who ever reviewed: witch, marauderbabe289, Punkindoodle, aperfectattitude, yummy food, WinnieThaPoo92, D.M Lover, Marionette, googleaddict, mytondeftiger, pstibbons, PadfootPatronus, Kae-Lae, chaste-aeon, Princess Amoretta, whymuzitellu24myname, Charu, FireboltPheonix, Nothing Rhymes With Orange, silverlovedragoness, Waiting For An Absolution, grace, ca803, Darkforesta, Twitchy the Squirrel, and LightningRose. I tried to reply to every signed review I recieved to thank each of you personally, but I apologize for any I may have accidentally missed. You are the most wonderful people and your reviews always helped me to keep writing. Thank you so much!

As for more stories, I have several ideas floating around in my head, so keep a look-out for me. My muses are over-active, so I'll be posting more shortly.

In the meantime, check out the C2 I'm manager of to fill all your DHr cravings. It's called Sophistication: The Dramione and specializes in really well-written fics. Only the best go up here, and my staff (chaste-aeon, who's awesome, by the way) and I are always scouting for more good work.

This is the last time I'll ever beg for reviews for this story, so please indulge me and let me know what you think of this chapter, this story, other stories, fanfiction in general, ice cream, snow, shoes, or anything that strikes your fancy. I'd especially love to hear if you have any requests or suggestions for other stories; I might just be inspired!

Thank you again,

BIE : )


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